Get this! I just won a FREE entry to this conference . . . !!! Now, I must get to Phoenix, AZ in time. And well, I need a little help for that. Thus, in the next couple of days, I need to come up with about $470 for the roundtrip airline ticket.

I do Intuitive/Psychic Readings and for $50.00 you get one-hour. I may have to give the reading after the conference, nevertheless, if you pay now and help me get to the conference you’ll get one of the best readings ever.

If you’d like to lend me the full amount or something towards it, that’s good too. I can receive gifts via PayPal (money) and/or if you want to cover it on your credit card (you can make the arrangements with the airline and I won’t need your credit card info.) — I will reimburse you when I can.

DISCLAIMER: This is my way to understand all the feelings I am feeling after hearing of the death of someone I personally knew; someone who died at the age of only 42-years-old. Someone I was estranged from for good solid reasons. I have forgiven her, in fact, I did many months ago (for her causing me humiliation and embarrassment). I did not wish for this.

Months ago, I ended a friendship, and blogged about it here.

Click on the photograph above to see the obituary.

Even though, I was not speaking to Jenee Bandler. I was saddened to hear of her early death. There was a time, not too long ago, I believe she considered me her best friend; or one of them.

Sadly, I found it difficult to consider her my best friend. Why? When Jenee informed me that “if you really loved me as a friend, Angela“, after one of my friends didn’t want to date her … Jenee informed me it was my “job” to end the friendship with this man. A man I had known for over fifteen years.

I don’t feel friends should dictate to whom I, or anyone else, is supposed to call a friend.

Jenee also would take it upon herself to tell me exactly how and why I owed her my loyalty, and should do for her or as she asked, because of the times she went out of her way for me. I thanked her for any and all favors she gave to me, I truly appreciated it and in return, in many cases, I did several favors for her, of course. She often reminded me, though, it seems, I still owed more to her.

Perhaps, it was, somewhere in her subconscious, she knew she didn’t have much time left here (?)

Our friendship began years ago in our hometown of Phoenix, AZ. As a teenager, I was involved in a group ran by Michael Lancy, through the Greater Phoenix Jewish Community Center. The group was a performing arts group called Centerstage.

Norm Bandler

The young girls, in the group, flocked to me, a teenage girl they looked up too. I was young, pretty, tall, talented, kind and popular. All these little girls thought of me, I am sure, as a big sister. Jenee Bandler was one of them.

I came back a couple of years later, after I graduated from high school. Mike Lancy had a “touring” group, two of them — Centerstage West (beginning acting students) and Centerstage USA (advanced). I auditioned and was placed in Centerstage USA; I was a honor drama student in high school. Jenee was there, now 14-years-old or maybe 13-years-old. We were all teens (I was 18-years-old) and we all had our little clicks. Jenee was in group of younger teens who came from the wealthier Jewish family’s of Scottsdale and Phoenix, AZ. I was not in this group as I was a bit older and from a middle-class background.

Jenee was friendliest of that particular click. She had another typical trait of her age, too — she was boy crazy! In fact, I was shocked that some of the girls, aged 12 (maybe even younger) to 17 were talking about their sexual exploits so openly. Shook me up as I, just 18 and still a virgin, felt they were much too young to be sexually active, or so verbal about “doing it“.

Centerstagers 1982

I had a boyfriend, ever since I was 16-years-old and we were still dating, at this time. But, at Centerstage I formed a crush on a younger man–a rather effeminate 16-year-old I’ll call M.E.

Suddenly, as I flirted and fantasized about M.E., apparently, Jenee was also interested in him. It seemed to me, just as M.E. & I started having conversations and were getting along, Jenee jumped in and started her campaign to win his heart. I felt she was competing with me . . . on purpose.

In fact, it often seemed the click, all of them, wanted to compete with me. It irked me. They [the group] seemed angry when I was given a solo, or the girls would interrupt my conversations bringing attention to themselves. Jenee particularly did this when I was talking with M.E.

This was my “friendship” with Jenee for two summers in the 1980s. She ended up dating M.E., and bragging to me all about it.Thus, the rest of the summer (on tour); Jenee and I never really fought, but were certainly made quips — both of us guilty — about or toward one another. Then, tour was over and I did not see her until the next summer, when I did Centerstage USA tour again. The 2nd year, if M.E. and Jenee were dating, it was hard for me to tell. Jenee and I talked briefly, on occasion, yet, I don’t remember any particularly rude or even in-depth personal conversations between us. We weren’t enemies, nor particularly close; we were civil, accepting and decent.

Autographs_Centerstagers

Her brother, Norm Bandler, on the other hand, aged about 11, acted like he had a huge crush on me . . . me, the older woman! It was so cute. Norm was a very sweet little boy and followed me around a lot on that tour. He was highly intelligent, we both were big fans of the tv series “Mork & Mindy”. I felt like a teacher to Norm. He asked me lots of questions about acting, tv and films — we talked for hours. Norm was wise way beyond his years.

Then, summer was over, 2nd year in a row. I didn’t see, nor speak to Jenee again until about two years or so later. Not for any particular reason, bad or good. I was to never see Norm again, sadly.

My mother was doing a production of “The Sound of Music” at a new theatre called Shadow Rock; about two or so years after my Centerstage experiences. Cast beside my mother, as a nun at the Abbey, Jenee Bandler!

Picking up my mother at a rehearsal one evening, Jenee and I got to talking, catching up. She was still dating M.E. and seemed happy. It was a good conversation, and we parted company on a friendly manner.I believe, by this time, I had preparing to move to New York (or already had) and was involved with Nick Atonna. I would say this was 1984.I know I never saw the production of “The Sound of Music” with my mother and Jenee — either 1) because I wasn’t in town when it went up or 2) or I was sick or 3) doing another production [maybe].

In 1989 ish, I returned to Phoenix, AZ [from New York –1984-1988]. I was in Phoenix, AZ for a few years this 2nd time around. While doing a production of Good Clean Fun with a former Centerstager, Heather Brody (the Producer); Jenee stopped by a rehearsal, briefly, one day with her boyfriend (not M.E.). We only had a quick conversation and she said something about M.E. being a jerk and, obviously, she had moved on.

Then, around 1998 ish, I was living in Burbank, CA; I brought a Richard Simmon’s video and while doing ‘Disco Sweat’, at the end, one of his biggest stars, on the video, was a familiar face, Jenee Bandler!!! I attempted track her, found an address and phone in Burbank — but she had moved.

Jump to 2007, either Jenee found me or I found her on facebook: We were both now living in New York. She asked me to take some photographs of her . . . as she wanted to go back into acting — from years of pursuing and becoming a Clinical Psychologist. She was married and updated me on Norm — he was living in Los Angeles, CA, living his dreams.

The one thing I remembered about Jenee, from the Centerstage days, was her incredible singing voice — at age 14, it was remarkable! Our re-acquainting, all these years later, I found Jenee more mature, sweet and funny.

Tragedy struck soon after . . . before I could get a phone call from Norm and re-acquaint with the really cool young man from so many years ago. Norm died in a tragic accident. Jenee was understandably devastated. It happened the very day she was to come be in a production at the theatre I was active in, Manhattan Theatre Source.

After this, I watched Jenee go from a married woman, slightly overweight and mature to a devastated, partying woman with an ending marriage and unhealthy habits increasing. Jenee was quite overweight when we re-acquainted, yet, after her brother’s death, and her divorce, she gained more weight.

It must’ve been a few months after Norm passed on when Jenee began doing plays at Manhattan Theatre Source (MTS). She was immediately infatuated with my friend, a regular at MTS. As she became involved with MTS, Jenee’s personality came out.

Jenee Bandler was fun, loud, theatrical and opinionated! It was fun, at times, even if a bit overwhelming. I mean, my personality is big, too — Jenee could make me look shy! LOL!

What started to be a problem, though, was her psychology degree. I noted, silently, her need to psycho-analyze people, particularly J.A. I always secretly hoped she would not and tried to avoid being analyzed by her.

In March 2008, I left New York and went to Los Angeles, CA. My return in November 2008 left me homeless, in NY. Jenee, luckily, offered me a couple of weeks at her apartment in the Bronx, NY. While staying there, we got along pretty well, considering. Nevertheless, she became angry with me and accused me of lying when, while sleeping on her couch, I was eaten up by fleas (my ankles) and/or bed bugs. I went to a drug store and bought some spray to kill fleas and doused the couch and my suitcases. The professional opinion was the fleas came from the couch.

My only other issues, staying with Jenee, was housekeeping (she doesn’t do any) and her smoking at night. The cigarettes bothered me more than anything.

She did give me a “temporary” place to stay, though, and I did find other accommodations, as agreed, two weeks later.

I’m opinionated, too — and people who think they know everything are very annoying to those of us who do [know everything]! Ever since we were teens, even if we weren’t close, I knew, with Jenee, I must walk a bit on eggshells. She was over-emotional, took too much personally and overbearing with her diagnosis.

Yes, she could be fun, very funny and certainly was highly intelligent . . . and a good actor! Thus, she had skills to manipulate with her knowledge and acting talents. Sometimes these combos were lethal. Jenee’s feelings were easily hurt and her anger explosive. No one could predict what would trigger it, either.

One morning, early, Jenee phoned J.A. and woke him up. He was disturbed and read Jenee the riot act. She was offended greatly at his anger and him chastising her for “calling at an ungodly hour”. This rift between J.A. and Jenee went on for months, or a year . . . I lost track. Anyway, months later, J.A. is very humorous, tells lots of jokes. Well, Jenee is cast in a short play that J.A. wrote . . . during a rehearsal, J.A. make a JOKE to Jenee about “call at a decent hour”. She hit the ceiling.

So, that evening, during the performance, because J.A. didn’t apologize [for the joke] to Jenee. Jenee told her scene partner she was “not performing” J.A.’s play.Well, that would leave her scene partner no performance — and the girl’s parents were in the audience. As many of us tried to convince the angry Jenee to “do the show” and deal with J.A. later, she was telling us she didn’t care about anything and J.A. deserved it. Yet, we couldn’t convince her that she was hurting her scene partner, an innocent in this. Luckily, the scene partner talked Jenee into doing the show after lots of tears [the scene partner] and begging.

Jenee always yelled about acting professional, and this action proved to me and others . . . it didn’t mean her. As it was unprofessional to do that another actor just because someone made a sarcastic remark to her! Silently, I vowed, I would never work with Jenee again. And I am sure many of the other actors and directors there felt the same sentiment.

I lied, though . . . a couple of years later. I ended up being cast beside her in another MTS Spontaneous Combustion production. Admittedly, though, it went very well. In June 2010, though, our last time working together as the friendship ended in July 2010. I invited Jenee to do a reading of my play for the MTS Source Writers group. The day before the reading, she phoned me and chastised me for not giving her the lead and/or not writing the play about plus-sized women. Well, I wrote this play in the 90s and I only called her to give her something to do in the acting world.

Her reading, of the small role, was good, though. Jenee, at the time, though, was limping and telling me she “fell again” and had injured her leg or hip. It was about the 3rd or 4th time she had “fallen” and been “injured” that year alone. I also know she was treated for some sort of ‘brain bleed’ awhile back. Nevertheless, considering her weight and these sort of injuries, I was doubting if her health was good and/or being monitored.

Then, Jenee, after this time, was getting very, very dependent on me. She would call me and ask me to sign her up for auditions, or find her auditions, etc. . . making me her agent, suddenly. Although, I never applied for this job.

She told me I owed her for making her come out, injured, to do my reading. Although, I told her to not come if she was hurt. I owed her for all the times she “did” for me; I owed her because I stayed in a friendship with J.A., against her will and thus I betrayed my friendship for her.

The last time I spoke to her, in person, was when I ended the friendship.

On or around the first week in January 2011, I received a strange text from Jenee — having not spoken to her since July 2010. It read: I love you and miss you. I wish you would let me help you through this. Happy New Year 2011.

It angered me all over again. My decision(s), back in July 2010, to protect my psyche — a happy and calm as can be lifestyle [as I am on medication for high blood pressure] was to 1) remove negative people from life [namely: Jenee], 2) to never contact Jenee again until she admitted she was “very wrong” to contact 911 over an argument — knowing full well I was NOT suicidal and 3) to never work with her again. If I had seen her in person, I would’ve been civil.

Even after the July incident, Jenee tried to tell me she was “right” and that “if anything happened” to me that she’d be upset [even though there was nothing wrong with me and SHE KNEW IT]. It was all about her being a hero, etc. Thus, her text was, perhaps, her crying out for help: ” I wish you would let me help you through this.”

We had no contact since July 2010, now January 2011, her blocked from my accounts — I thought, what in the world is she texting about?! My life is going great — Jenee helping me through things would mean me being locked up in a mental institution, apparently. Please! I deleted it. Never heard from her again.

In January 2011, though, there was mention of her name again. A playwright I know was doing a reading of her new play — she asked J.A. and I to be in the reading. She also asked him and I for Jenee’s number. We both, separately, wrote back the playwright saying we “will not work with Jenee.” The playwright found another actor and kept J.A. and I.

Then, the Source also announced a “Volunteer Appreciation/Anniversary Party”, asking me to attend. In fact, the manager wrote a private email. I didn’t want to go if Jenee would be there. Suddenly, I thought, “she won’t be there again.”

My intuition, or something told me she had moved on — I felt it meant she had passed on. This is part of my gift which I don’t always enjoy. I will get the message when someone has passed on, just as I did when Debby Coleby passed. I tried a more positive thought . . . “No,” I thought, “Jenee just moved back to LA or Phoenix.”

The message returned to my intuition: Jenee Bandler has reunited with her brother.

I didn’t want to believe it.

Nevertheless, that night, or soon after, I was reading my facebook wall feed. I have Jenee blocked, but am friends or have a friend request pending with the infamous M.E. His status, which appears on my wall, read: My high school friend died in NY.

I knew it was Jenee, but, did try to push it out of my mind. Thinking it was another friend . . . then, the day of the party at the Source; which I agreed to go to, M.E.’s facebook status read: My high school girlfriend died. That was, indeed, Jenee.At the Source party, I had a friend check Jenee’s facebook [as she hadn’t blocked her]. The party was February 5th, 2011. Jenee, herself, last posted on January 14th. Then, 18 hours before we checked her facebook page, her uncle posted that he “was sorry to inform us, his niece passed away [yesterday] in her home.

I had known, truly known for about a week, of course. Now, confirmed, I was sort of mixed. I did truly wish she had just moved back to Phoenix or California, so I wouldn’t have to avoid her anymore. I didn’t want nor wish for her to die, of course. Yet, even a year or so ago, I knew it was coming. Her overall health didn’t seem to suggest she’d be with us very long.

I feel most for her parents. They have now buried both their children. A fate I would never wish on any parent, ever.As for me, I’m a little shocked in some ways. Relieved in another as Jenee Bandler seemed an unhappy person and missed Norman terribly. Now, she is at peace, and reunited with her beloved brother.

It is strange, though, to not have Jenee Bandler in the world. She was a force to be reckoned with, most of the time.

Soon after, and I’ll post it another time, I dreamt about her . . . and/or she visited me in a dream. She didn’t know she had died, and I had to tell her to go to the light and take Norm’s hand.

Next time, I talk about the full dream . . . though; and all those I’ve lost, and how they communicate with me before, during and after death.

Day Ninety–Seven (97): Saturday, June 5th, 2010

97) Christian Mystics Understood The Law

The Law of Attraction works in the pursuit of spiritual desire just as it does for worldly things. Christianity emphasizes total submission of one’s will to the will of God. Christian mystics have understood how the twin engines of faith and belief could merge the spiritual self into alignment and even unity with its Source. Some say that through divine grace they entered transcendental realms and moved closer to God.

Mystics of all religions have exhibited paranormal powers, gained knowledge and perceived truth through an inner knowing. That is not to say that all mystical experiences are pleasant. However, the understanding that mystics come away with from time spent in transcendental states have sometimes enabled them to manifest or create from spiritual desires (often to help others).

Today, my Daddy, Michael Egic, would’ve turned 97–years–old…

…he made it to 73-years-old, nevertheless. He died on February 4th, 1987. The same day as Liberace. My father died that morning, Liberace died that evening.

Get this…my father was born on June 5th, 1913 in McKeesport, Pennsylvania. At that time, it was almost all immigrant families from Yugoslavia. Daddy’s family was no exception. Grandpa, Petrov Egic and Grandma, Anna Svilokos Egic spoke little, if any, English. In fact, whatever port they arrived on in 1912 or early in 1913 (we think Grandma was pregnant with my father on the ship) — our last name was changed by the English-only speaking port authorities.

As far as I understand, our last name, was Egich. And from what I learned from Daddy, he was the first-born American; we were from Belgrade, Yugoslavia. There’s rumor that one of my grandparents may have been Croatian. And look, with some geneology, we may even be Russian Jews somewhere in the line.

Nevertheless, Grandpa and Grandma were Serbian Orthodox (Christian) as was my father. In fact, that’s how my father met my mother … at the Serbian Hall in Phoenix, AZ in 1962.

My father was the first, as stated, of eventually eight (8) children: Peter (a real-life gold prospector), Samuel (yes, I had an Uncle Sam), Nick (ended up an NYC businessman), Violet, Mary (adored her, most of all), George (everyone’s favorite) and the youngest, Angelina (changed her name, though — to Dorothy).

I really didn’t get to know many of them well . . .with the exception of Peter, Mary and Violet. I barely met Nick and as a child, I spent some time with Dorothy, Sam and George (mostly on vacations).

In fact, Uncle Pete was the first death I experienced at a conscious level. I was only 7-years-old. Uncle Pete lived in the very rural, desert area of Wickenburg, AZ in a shack. My cousin, Vincent (we were raised together from 1965-1973), and I loved Uncle Pete. In his shack, I may have developed my phobia of old and dirty bathrooms — but, he had all sorts of animals; living animals in cages — rabbits, snakes, prairie dogs, etc. He generally let them free after a while. But, he collected them to show to Vince and I. We loved it.

Uncle Pete, on his gold-prospecting trips into the deep desert of Arizona, he also brought back lots of different rocks, stone, minerals, etc. including our favorite “fool’s gold” and some parts of Arizona’s famous “painted desert”. The stones turn colors due to pieces of crystal-like covers on them. All natural! Every now and again, Uncle Pete found real gold. Somewhere, all of us were given an ounce of real gold by my uncle. Still, I think in the 1970s one of my foster sisters stole it when she ran away.

In 1971 or 1972, Uncle Pete went prospecting, as he often did. On his trips, Pete would check in with his closest neighbor and tell him how long he’d be gone and to watch his shack. About two weeks after this trip, my father received a call from the neighbor saying that Uncle Pete was overdue by one whole week.

All I remember is both my parents being very upset that the neighbors waited so long to call them — and that, considering it was the desert, Uncle Pete was gone. Nevertheless, my family and I drove the two hours or so to Wickenburg — to an area Uncle Pete frequented on his trips — and Daddy and some area residents went on a search party for him.

I wanted very much to with Daddy. I felt I could find Pete, because, even then, I had this psychic connection to people. In fact, I remember telling Daddy I knew where Pete was waiting. Of course, not sure I understood he was dead. Dad wouldn’t let me go as I was only a small child. Mom, Vince and I sat in the car — with lots of water and drinks — while Dad went out walking.

Vince and I did love playing out in the desert — throwing rocks at the Jumping Chola Cactuses. Jumping Chola’s are fun — they will actually jump at you, if you come too close — and insert the needles under your skin like a fishhook. Painful as hell. If you throw rocks at them, you can hear the needles trying to lodge into the stone! It’s like a Venus Fly Trap! Vince and I thought that was so much fun.

And you know, we both had our share of needles in our arms, etc. Mom would have to pull them out as we screamed and cried.

Dad came back, not too long, really, with tears in his eyes. I remember this because it was the first time I saw Daddy cry. They found him, only about a mile from the nearest ranch. Apparently, Uncle Pete left his van (mistake #1) and tried to make his way to this ranch he knew about. Pete had forgotten his water (mistake #2). As Uncle Pete walked in the right direction — he must’ve grown tired and decided to sit underneath a tree (mistake #3) for a minute. He died of exposure.

As I listed those mistakes, let me tell you why. When you grow up in Arizona, in school, they teach us desert survival. Desert survival comes with rules — 1) If you are with your vehicle: NEVER LEAVE YOUR VEHICLE. It’s easier for rescue to find a car than a person, in the desert. 2) NEVER FORGET WATER (brings jugs and jugs for you and jugs and jugs for your car) and 3) Once you are walking — NEVER STOP UNTIL YOU FIND WATER and/or PEOPLE.

Uncle Pete knew all these rules too well. Why he forgot his water or why he left his vehicle, we’ll never know. Or even why he stopped only a mile from his destination.

A short while later, I attended my first funeral. A Serbian Orthodox funeral in the middle of a desert cemetary in Wickenburg, AZ. Uncle Pete loved the desert. I remember kissing the cross on the casket (closed) and feeling like Uncle Pete was watching us and told him “I’ll see you later.” My father was devastated. My father inherited Uncle Pete’s purple heart from World War II. Today, I have that purple heart and it’s very dear to me.

After that, I was closer to my Daddy than ever. I wanted him to never hurt again and I wished Uncle Pete would come back. We also inherited his panel van. My Dad put our little rocking chair in the back of it and Vince and I loved riding in them. We’d flip the rocking chairs on purpose while on the road.

As I think back to the 1970s, when that was illegal and there were no laws about child seats, etc. — it’s amazing we never were injured in that van! LOL! This is also before safety equipment was used while riding our bikes or roller skating on the cement. I have plenty of scars to show how dangerous our world was then . . . and lived to talk about it, as you can see!

As the years went by, I tried to learn more about my father. He married my mother when he was already 49-years-old and only knew her a year or so. Thus, he had some sort of life for 47 years before Mom and me and Vince.

My father never really went to school — yet, he could read and he loved to write and take pictures. Daddy was an avid photographer and I still have camera’s of his dating back to the 1920s! By the time Daddy was 12 or so years old, in McKeesport, PA, he went to work in the coal mines with his father. The family was poor and my father may have attended a school for a short while. He never could remember if he did or not.

Daddy had severe asthma or developed it in the coal mines. At some point, probably before he was even 18 and having no diploma, he was still able to join the Army. In those days it didn’t require any formal education. By the time he joined the Army, maybe he was 16 or 17-years-old, he could read and write. He served during peace time and had his honorable discharge.

In this interim, he attended Air Conditioning School. Then, a doctor told him, if he didn’t leave Pennsylvania, his asthma and the air would kill him ten to twenty years early. My father was told he had to move to Death Valley, California or Phoenix, AZ. This was probably in the 1940s.

I have a picture here, of my father with a radio microphone in his hand. This may be from the Army days or the 1930s. But, he once told me, he worked at a radio station. I think it was in Pennsylvania.

My grandfather died young (heart attack or black lung from the coal mines?), in Pennsylvania, maybe in his 40s. So, after that, my father had to support his mother and the seven remaining children.

Somewhere in there, Daddy moved to Phoenix, AZ and applied for and was hired by the United States Post Office. A job he would hold from 1940-something until 1985. He was hired as a Letter Carrier, a job he loved and kept him going his whole life, really.

In Phoenix, and remember he never had a high school education or diploma; he was smart enough to land a job with the postal service. He once told me he probably learned to read at the coal mine or someone taught him somewhere along the line. My father loved words, reading and writing. He kept journals for years, which Mom and I have in storage in Florida.

Late in the 1940s, my father met a woman named Jeannie. She was a divorced woman with two children. She was American Indian. My father went to a place for Army veteran’s, called “The American Cantina” — but she had TB (tuberculosis) when it was still incurable. Jeannie was placed in an asylum, as they were in those days, to die. What we would call a hospice, now. Although, these asylum’s were quarantined and no visitors that were healthy could get close w/touching or kissing — TB is much too contagious.

Somehow, my father married Jeannie. Jeannie died eight months later in the asylum. My mother and I do not believe there was any way for that marriage to have been consummated in the time they knew one another. Of course, there’s no way to know previous to Jeannie’s illness. Sex was not spoken up in those days.

In the storage, of my father’s life, there were dozens of letters that my father wrote to Jeannie while she was in the asylum. At some point, I think my mother threw most of them away — but there’s a couple that were saved.

In fact, a year after my parents married, my mother discovered that every year, since Jeannie’s death — my father placed an ad in the Phoenix Gazette saying “We miss you, Jeannie.” My mother made him stop when she found out.

Mom and Dad met at the Serbian Hall. My mother had gone from the Roman Catholic Church to Serbian Hall because they would let her sing solo. She had to learn how to sing in Serbian by sounding out the words, though! She did well! Daddy was the only single guy left, so she kept putting herself in the front seat when Dad drove all the single ladies home.

According to Mom, Dad was not a romantic or very smooth. In fact, she really set everything up. The way he proposed was interesting . . . not necessarily romantic. Mom and Dad had been doing the “driving home from choir” thing and had dinners. She said Dad would drive her to her apartment and on occasion tried to get together with her — but Mom, at the time in her late 20s, wanted to wait until marriage for that and would stop Dad’s advances. He respected her (he would often say that as the years went by — that he respected my mother) and didn’t try again.

One day, they were walking in downtown Phoenix and were walking by a jewelry store. Not sure, but Mom may have stopped to admire the engagement rings or look at something. Anyway, while looking in the window with Dad, he said, “Which one do you want?”

That was his proposal.

They were married on October 13, 1962 in the Catholic Church (St. Mary’s, I think) in downtown Phoenix. Dad was 49-years-old, which Mom did not discover until they were filling out their marriage license! She had never asked his age . . . Mom was 30-years-old and would be 31-years-old on December 23rd of that year.

For years and years Mom told me she was 29-years-old, but her math was off — because she was born on December 23, 1931; thus, she was already 30-years-old in October 1962.

I was born 11 months later, on September 28th, 1963. My father was 50-years-old and I would be his first and only child.

Today, I honor him by saying “Happy Birthday, Daddy“. And I wonder what he would be like if he had made it here to his 97th birthday.

On another note — Today, in email, I heard from my cousin, Clara Collins. . .

A few years ago, Clara lost all four of her children to foster care. It’s a long messy story. Anyway, her two oldest were adopted out by the state of Arizona. She contacted me and said she found those children on the internet and send me updated photographs.

Her oldest child, Sadie and her 2nd child, Tyson. I have a photograph of Tyson and my mother together from when Clara still had him.

Day Ninety–Five (95): Thursday, June 3rd, 2010

95) Intent Can Bring About Radical Transformation

Alchemy blurs the lines between science and philosophy, between the magical and the spiritual. But always, in the end, alchemy is about change/transformation. When a person desires to undertake personal growth work, he or she in some ways joins the ranks of ancient practitioners of magic or spiritual shamanism, for that person holds a deep desire to evolve and attempts to manifest the result through desire, intent, and action. Such transformation can bring a sea change in his or her relationships with others, for as psychologists point out: it only takes one person to shift a paradigm. In relationships, that means when the individual changes, everyone around that person necessarily has to change too.

It was too hotafter all day on the tour bus and then theatre hours. I asked to leave early from the theatre, just too damn hot.

I grew up “hot” . . . in Phoenix, AZ which we lovingly refer to as ‘Hell‘!

Just wanted to get this off my chest. Actually, I could use a few inches off my chest–but breast reduction is another story.

When I moved to New York — the girl from Arizona; where, on a good day, we reach 120 degrees; I ran across the infamous “but it’s a dry heat” excuse.

Do you who are not educated in the ways of our people … those who are hot and bothered most of their lives in places like Phoenix (Hell), Arizona or worse — Yuma, AZ. This is EXACTLY, no exaggeration, what DRY HEAT feels like.

And just like you feel, crammed up inside an oven, burning up, cooking your own internal organs and cooking yourself to burning — that’s what dry heat of 120 degrees feels like if you breathe, walk or exert yourself in any way, whatsoever.

In Arizona schools, grade school, we learn desert survival and what to do for heat stroke! And kids constantly get heat stroke. They go out to play, in the 120 degree heat, and pass out and sometimes, die. As do elderly people. In fact, statistically, about 5 tourists a year lose their life in Arizona due to heat stroke! Generally, elderly people; still, 5 too many.

Yes, here on the East Coast, the humidity feels crappy . . . but, generally, you won’t drop dead on the street. Your body is like 80 or 90% water and where there’s humidity you are hydrated, to some degree … where there is dry heat, your 80 or 90% of you dries up and you croak!

In Arizona, we had daily heat alerts, too. And our malls are open late, so you don’t have to go out in the sun. The swimming pools, if you get in them at midnight, are like bathtubs! You don’t need to heat your pools in Arizona, that’s for sure.